Poor, poor man! (Going on with her work) If you can't
tell me your name, I wish you would tell me what work you do.
(Winningly) You don't mind my asking, do you?
STRANGER. I can tell you what work I'm going to do after to-day.
LADY PEMBURY. Oh, do!
STRANGER (violently). None!
LADY PEMBURY (surprised). None?
STRANGER. No more work after to-day.
LADY PEMBURY. Won't that be rather dull?
STRANGER. Well, _you_ ought to know. I'm going to be one of the idle
rich--like you and Sir John--and let other people work for me.
LADY PEMBURY (thoughtfully). I shouldn't have said my husband was
idle. But there it is. No two people ever agree as to what is work and
what isn't.
STRANGER. What do you know about work--you aristocrats?
LADY PEMBURY (mildly). My husband is only a K.B.E., you know. Quite a
recent creation.
STRANGER (not heeding her). You, who've been brought up in the lap of
luxury--never known a day's discomfort in your life----
LADY PEMBURY. My dear young man, you really mustn't tell a woman who
has had five children that she has never known a day's discomfort in
her life. . . . Ask any woman.
STRANGER (upset). What's that? . . . I didn't come here to argue with
you. You began it.
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